


Something Left to Lose

by LearnedFoot



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Survives Infinity War, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Developing Friendships, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-22 16:30:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17666081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: Five times Rocket tried to steal from Bucky (and the one time it was a promise).





	Something Left to Lose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iwasanartist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasanartist/gifts).



> I had so much fun writing this for you! I found your prompt and letter very inspiring. These two really would get along, I think. I hope you enjoy :D
> 
> As suggested in the tags, AU where Bucky survives IW. Everything else is the same.

The first time Rocket tried to steal from Bucky, it was the night after Thanos killed half the universe.

The survivors of the massacre in Wakanda piled back into the city, safe beneath repaired shields. Except what exactly was the point of safe, anymore? 

The Avengers holed up in the palace, on Shuri’s insistence. Bucky would have preferred to stay in his hut. The luxury of royalty never felt like a good fit at the best of times; now it seemed almost grotesque, stretching out on sheets woven from fabric softer than silk, in a bed so large it could fit four. But the look on Steve’s face when he hinted he wanted to stay outside the protection of the city center would have been enough to get him to sleep in the king’s own bedroom if that’s what his friend wanted. Palace it was.

He did eventually drift off, exhaustion of battle winning over discomfort and horror. But then — what felt like only moments later — he snapped awake, suddenly on high alert. There was an intruder, he sensed it in his nerves. He swiveled to his left, just in time to see wide eyes disappearing from the side of his bed, and a small furry creature dashing out the door.

He should have stayed in the hut.

***

He almost dismissed it as a dream, until the next morning, when he caught the raccoon eyeing him warily from across the large table on which somehow, improbably, Shuri had managed to make a breakfast appear. When Bucky met his eye, the creature looked away immediately. That was all the confirmation he needed.

“What’s the deal with your little buddy?” he asked Thor, who was sitting beside him, working through a plate stacked high with sausage.

“Ah, Rabbit,” Thor replied with a fond smile.

“That’s not a rabbit.”

Thor shrugged. “He’s the leader of a group called the Guardians of the Galaxy. They’re like the Avengers, but in space, and, on a whole, less competent. But Rabbit is very brave and a mighty warrior, despite his size.”

“He snuck into my room last night,” Bucky informed him, snagging a piece of bacon while Thor processed the new information. “I think he was trying to steal my gun. Or my arm.”

Thor considered this thoughtfully. “He just lost his best friend. He may need a distraction.”

 _We all just lost somebody_ , Bucky almost replied, but it would have been a lie. He hadn’t, not really. Yes, he respected and liked T'Challa, and in all probability some of the locals he’d enjoyed chatting with were gone, too. But for the most part, he’d stuck to himself in Wakanda; the only person he’d really befriended was Shuri, and she was alive. _Steve_ was alive. He’d lost people all right, but that was a long time ago.

“Yeah, well, tell him he can’t have my arm,” he said instead.

***

The second time Rocket tried to steal from Bucky, he was after his guns.

It was two weeks after Thanos. Most of the team had scattered — Natasha to find Clint, Bruce to consult with wizards, Thor on some sort of Asgardian vision quest that required a solo journey off on a distant planet — but Bucky had been cajoled into training everyone who was left in Wakandan weaponry. As Colonel Rhodes put it, “This stuff kicks SI’s ass, and I want to show Tony up when he gets back.” (He always talked about Stark like it was obvious he’d return soon. Bucky found that unlikely, but never said it out loud.)

Bucky wasn’t an expert on the weapons, really, but the Wakandan soldiers had bigger things to worry about than giving lessons to what was left of the Avengers, and he had picked up a few things. He didn’t mean to; when he’d come to Wakanda, he’d wanted to leave fighting behind him. But Shuri had been eager to show off her toys, and he couldn’t bring himself to say no to the enthusiastic young woman who insisted on keeping him company. Maybe in his heart he’d known the battle wasn’t over. He had a feeling it never really would be, not for him.

He was laying the weapons out in an open field an hour before the group was set to meet, considering which to demonstrate first, when he caught the slightest glimpse of a bushy tail weaving between the tall grass.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, Rabbit,” he said, loudly enough that there was no way for the raccoon to miss it.

There was a shuffle, and then a furry head with narrowed eyes head popped out of a particularly thick patch of grass. “Only Thor gets to call me that,” he said, voice rough and sharp. “You, call me Rocket.”

“Okay, then, Rocket. The point stands.”

Rocket didn’t say anything, just eyed the guns like he thought he might be able to grab one and make a run for it.

“If you want to try them, join the lesson.”

“I don’t do group activities.” Despite the attitude, he gazed at the guns with something akin to longing.

Bucky quickly ran through his options. Ignore him, he might cause more trouble. Tell him to leave, he would _definitely_ cause more trouble. No, the best choice was: “Then take a look now, before everyone gets here.”

Rocket bounded over immediately, as if he’d been waiting for permission, and started poking through the offerings, muttering to himself in delight. After a minute, he picked up a long-range machine gun with incredible firepower and even more remarkable aiming capability. “I want to try this one.”

Bucky was reluctantly impressed: it wasn’t the largest weapon there, or the flashiest, but it was by far the most deadly. The raccoon knew his stuff.

“It’s got a bit of a kick,” he warned, but he’d already decided he wasn’t going to say no.

“I can handle kick,” Rocket replied, defensive. “Set up a target, you’ll see how much kick I can handle.”

So Bucky set up a target, and learned that not only could Rocket handle the kick, but he was a frighteningly good shot for someone who looked like he should be eating out of a trashcan.

***

It became a routine. Unspoken, never agreed upon, but consistent: almost every time Bucky was in the field alone, Rocket would pop up to join him in target practice. He was good, very good, though to Bucky’s disappointment he scoffed off the idea of trying hand-to-hand sparring as well.

And he wasn’t just good at shooting. Within a few days he started sharing suggestions for how to improve the weapons, which Bucky dutifully passed on to Shuri. First a tweak here, a new trigger idea there, but by the second week he was showing up with full-blown blueprints, ways to harness Wakandan technology into what Bucky could only assume were alien designs.

At one point, Bucky, who found the engineering was quickly getting way beyond him, suggested it would make more sense for Rocket to talk to Shuri directly. But Rocket just bared his teeth and said, “I don’t babysit. If she can’t figure it out with this” — he shook his latest sketch — “she can’t have it.” 

Shuri always did figure it out, and Bucky didn’t suggest Rocket talk to her again. Instead, they continued their odd partnership, passing messages, training almost daily, never speaking outside the field, where it was just them, their weapons, and the targets they both hit with perfect accuracy every time.

***

The next time Rocket tried to get Bucky’s arm, it wasn’t really by stealing.

It was after Stark and the blue android woman crash-landed in a field outside the city, bearing the news that everyone else with them had died.

That afternoon, Rocket didn’t show up when Bucky went to the field to shoot. He didn’t think much of it at the time. It wasn’t the usual schedule; he only went out to avoid the hubbub, which made him anxious, and Stark, who he wasn’t sure would be pleased to see him. He figured Rocket must have stuck around the palace to hear what new plans were being created. Or maybe he was checking in with the android, who he seemed to know.

But then he wasn’t at dinner, either. That was odd. Rocket rarely spoke to anyone at meals, but he never missed them.

“You should probably go find him, Buck,” Steve said after Bucky pointed out the absence.

“Why me?”

Steve looked at him like it was a crazy question. “With Thor gone, you’re the closest thing he has to a friend.”

Bucky was startled to realize it was true.

***

So that evening he did something he’d never done before: he went to Rocket’s room. When a knock got no answer and a louder knock got a gruff, “Go away,” he shoved it open. It wasn’t locked. Rocket didn’t want to be alone as badly as he was pretending.

The raccoon was hunched on the edge of his bed, fiddling with the pieces of a gun, which lay dismantled on a table next to him. He didn’t say anything when Bucky entered, didn’t look up when he crossed the room, but his muscles tensed and his nimble fingers stilled when he sat on the edge of the bed.

“It seems insulting to ask if you’re okay,” Bucky offered.

“You just kind of did it anyway,” Rocket muttered, fingers starting to move again, picking up a screw.

Bucky shrugged. No arguing with that. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, even though he already knew what the answer would be.

“Do I look like I want to talk about it?” Despite the sarcasm, Rocket shot him a glance, and Bucky thought he saw gratitude in his eyes.

“No,” Bucky acknowledged. And then, with a sigh, slightly exaggerated, “I didn’t think you would.”

“Then why are you bothering me?”

Another sigh. “Steve insisted.”

Rocket looked at him again, tale whipping, annoyed. “What’s the deal with you and that guy, anyway? You just do everything he says?”

It was exactly the question Bucky had expected, and gave him an opportunity to give exactly the answer he’d prepared: “He’s been my best friend since childhood. He’s the only person I have left from my old life.”

That got Rocket’s attention. They’d never talked about Bucky’s past. “Oh?” was all he said, but his eyes didn’t return to the gun.

And so Bucky launched into his story. Brief, truncated, unemotional, but enough to get the point across: he knows what it feels like to lose people. When he finished, Rocket’s gaze was riveted on him.

“Is that supposed to make me feel less alone or some touchy-feely mumbo jumbo?” he asked, but the sarcasm faltered, and he brushed a paw past his eye.

“It’s not supposed to do anything,” Bucky lied. This earned a skeptical glare. He didn’t think Rocket was one for sentimentality, but apparently there was also such a thing as being too coy with him. “Fine. It is supposed to be my way of saying I understand. And if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better —”

Rocket flashed a wicked grin. “You could give me that arm.”

Bucky chuckled and shook his head. “Nice try. Anything but that.”

“What about blowing something up?” Rocket prodded, mouth stretching wider, showing teeth.  

“That, I think we can do,” Bucky agreed, letting his hand drift to Rocket’s back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He didn’t pull away, which seemed like a good sign. “We’ll have some fun with explosives tomorrow.”

The smile Rocket gave him was sincere, grateful, and as much thanks as he needed.

***

The fourth time Rocket tried to steal from Bucky, he got closer than ever.

Three days after they spent a morning blowing holes in an empty Wakandan field, Rocket appeared in Bucky’s room with a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cards. He claimed he was just strolling by, headed back to his quarters to entertain himself, when it occurred to him Bucky might want to join in; the lie was so obvious it was hard to see why he bothered.

Bucky didn’t feel like playing cards. Or drinking, for that matter. Not these days, with the world barely holding itself together. Even hidden away in Wakanda they heard the news. Disasters, nations crumbling under pressure, a planet on the brink of self-destruction. Drinking and games seemed self-indulgent. But, despite the flippant posturing, Rocket looked so fragile as he held out the deck that Bucky couldn’t say no.

And so he learned several alien games, and taught Rocket a few Earth ones in return, and they stayed up later than they should have, until the bottle was empty. Bucky was surprised to find himself relaxing, even enjoying himself. And, most importantly, he heard Rocket laugh, deep and heartfelt, several times. It was always at Bucky’s expense, when he lost a hand in spectacular fashion, but he didn’t mind. It was worth it to see something other than sorrow on his new friend’s face.

***

Drinking and games became a part of their routine. Once a week, then more often, their nights together becoming one of the few bright spots in an increasingly dire situation. As weeks dragged into months, the apocalypse still raging, tension in the palace rose. Bucky never saw Shuri anymore; she spent all her time in the labs with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. Worse, Steve was constantly on edge. Bucky knew him well enough to understand he needed something to fight — an enemy to be aimed at. He was helping with disaster relief, trying his best to police a world gone mad, but that wasn’t enough. He was snapping at the slightest provocation, and his bad mood infected Bucky, worming its way under his skin, rocking his attempts to stay calm.

But during his nights with Rocket — where all they did was drink and play, focused on the game, allowing everything to fall away — he could almost pretend things were normal. As normal as playing cards with a talking raccoon could ever be, anyway.

Until one night, as a game of poker stretched into its third hour and Bucky’s chips were almost out, Rocket drunkenly asked, “Why don’t you throw that arm of yours into the pot?”

Bucky, feeling the edge of a buzz himself, rolled his eyes. “No. Why are you so obsessed with it?”

Rocket shrugged. “I’m a collector.”

“Of?”

“Mechanical body parts.” As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“That’s a strange hobby,” Bucky informed him, dealing the next hand. “Why?”

Rocket paused, looking into the bottle of vodka he’d been drinking, frowning at its nearly-empty state. “That’s the kind of emotionally charged question I try to avoid answering.”

Bucky chuckled, swiping the bottle and taking a deep gulp. “How’s that been working for you?”

“I don’t know,” Rocket said, grabbing another bottle from under the table and breaking it open. “Probably about as well as it’s working for you.”

Bucky grinned at the jab, inclining his head in acknowledgment of the point. Then, acting on an impulse he didn’t fully understand but decided to trust, he held out his arm. “You can look at it, if you want.”

Rocket didn’t need to be asked twice; he immediately scrambled across the table and began to run his fingers over the contours of the metal, muttering to himself with the same excitement as when Bucky had first let him near the guns.

“It’s Wakandan,” Bucky explained, flexing his fingers and turning his wrist so Rocket could explore from different angles. “A much more advanced design than — than what I original had.”

Rocket glanced up at that, but if he noticed the hitch in Bucky’s voice he didn’t mention it, just returned to his examination. “Does it hurt?” he eventually asked, running his paws over the seam where the arm met Bucky’s skin. It tickled a little.

“No,” Bucky said. “The old one sometimes did, but not this one.”

Rocket nodded, and then added, so quietly Bucky wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear, “It hurt when they made me.” His skillful fingers felt around the edges of the metal, pushing at the line of fusion between Vibranium and skin. “How does it stay on?”

It was only then that Bucky realized the exploration wasn’t just for curiosity. He snatched his arm away.

“It stays on in a way you won’t be able to undo, and that’s all you need to know.” He should have been annoyed, but when Rocket gave him an unapologetic smirk, he found he didn’t really mind. “This is why you don’t have any other friends here,” he said, to keep up appearances.

“Why would I need other friends?” Rocket asked, scampering back to his side of the table and picking up his cards. “I have you.”

***

The last time Rocket tried to get Bucky’s arm, it was a bet.

The end of the apocalypse came out of nowhere. Everything was plodding along, a ceaseless wave of trying to keep the world together and losing hope bit by bit, and then suddenly Tony Stark was calling them to a meeting, solution in hand: reversing time, returning to the battle for Wakanda, doing it all again. Killing Thanos before he could kill the universe.

“We just need a few things to go differently. We can _make_ them go differently.” He sounded confident, eyes sweeping across the ragtag collection of fighters with fierce determination. He even rested his gaze on Bucky for a moment, including him. “We’ve already sent a message out to Point Break. Once he gets back — hopefully with a new and improved sense of aim — we’ll be good to go.”

Suddenly, they were in a state of chaotic preparation. Not that there was really anything to prepare. The marching orders were simple: stay alive, keep other people alive, stay out of Thor’s way so he could aim for the head this time. Learn to live with the idea that no one but this core group will remember what happened. That last step seemed to bother the others, but Bucky shrugged it off. His reality had been remade so many times, what was one more?

Thor returned a few days later, sweeping into the palace in the middle of dinner. Rocket lit up when he saw him, rushing to his side, not even protesting as he picked him up, crowing, “Rabbit! I have many visions to tell you about!”

Bucky watched this display from a distance, impassive. He had always known he was just helping Rocket pass the time, so when Steve lay a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “He cares about you, too, Buck,” he shrugged it off, and told himself it didn’t matter.

***

The night before they were set to go back, to relive the battle and hopefully win this time, there was a light knock at his door. Before Bucky had time to answer it slid open and Rocket sauntered in, clutching a bottle of wine.

“I don’t drink before a fight,” Bucky informed him, scooting to the edge of his bed and leaning over, so that they could be closer in height.

“One cup?” Rocket asked, approaching him, holding the offering out. “Thor says this is supposed to fortify a person before battle.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “If it’s Asgardian, definitely not. I’d like to be able to stand tomorrow.”

Rocket shrugged and uncorked the bottle, taking a long swig. He made a face, nose twitching. “Delicious,” he said, coughing. “Not too strong at all.” But he put it on the ground and didn’t pick it back up. “So. Big day tomorrow.”

Bucky nodded. There wasn’t really anything to say to that. They remained in awkward silence until, out of nowhere, Rocket bound forward, pounced onto the bed, and threw his arms at Bucky’s chest; they were so short they didn’t make their way around his body, but the sentiment was clear. Surprised, pleased, Bucky returned the hug.

After a few moments, Rocket pulled back, clearing his throat. “So, uh, tomorrow. Bet I can get more kills than you.”

“No, you won’t,” Bucky informed him, keeping his tone casual and matter-of-fact. As if they were discussing a day at the shooting range or a hand of cards.

“Wanna make it interesting?” Rocket asked, eyes flicking to Bucky’s arm.

“Is that a joke?”

“Only kind of,” Rocket admitted with a grin.

Bucky shook his head with an exasperated laugh. “Isn’t saving the universe enough for you?”

Rocket placed his hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “After all this time, it’s like you don’t even know me at all.”

“After all this time, you should know my answer,” Bucky countered.  

Rocket tilted his head, considering this reply. “Fine. But I still think I’ll kill more people.”

“You’re on.” Bucky extended his hand.

Rocket took it and shook, firmly. “You do realize this means you have to live through the fight, right? So we can know who won.”

“Of course,” Bucky agreed. “That goes both ways.”

With a shaky breath, Rocket released his hand and jumped down from the bed. “Oh, I’ll live,” he said as he sauntered away. “Can’t have some human thinking he’s a better shot than me.”

***

In the end they came through, mud spattered, bloody, but alive.

Bucky did kill more people than Rocket. It didn’t feel like much of a victory, surrounded by too many fallen soldiers. But Thanos was dead, and half the universe was not. The expression on Rocket’s face when he saw his tree friend alive; Steve smiling for the first time in months; Shuri embracing T’Challa — that was enough. 

In this timeline, Thor hadn’t brought wine, but they celebrated with every bottle of Wakandan liquor they could get their hands on, and by the end of the night they were all bellowing Asgardian drinking songs at an open sky, shouting them to the moon.

***

Two days later a spaceship landed, and a haphazard collection of exhausted occupants — two aliens, two people Bucky recognized from Stark’s briefings as Stephen Strange and Peter Parker, and a third man he didn’t know — stumbled off. When Rocket saw them he let out a whoop of joy and dashed over, jumping into the strange human’s arms with an enthusiasm that clearly shocked him.

“I missed you, too, bud,” Bucky heard the man say. “But calm down. It’s only been a few days.”

Bucky didn’t stay to hear how Rocket explained the truth. It wasn’t his moment to share.  

That evening, Rocket came to his room, once again with a bottle of liquor, this one mysterious and green. “It’s my favorite stuff,” he explained at Bucky’s puzzled look. “We had some on the ship.”

Skeptical, but understanding it was meant as a kind gesture, Bucky took the bottle and tried a small sip. The liquid was sharp but surprisingly sweet, and went down with a burn that burst into bubbles at the back of his throat. “Interesting,” he commented through a grimace.

“Humans have no taste,” Rocket complained. “And here I was going to leave you a few cases.”

“Does that mean you’re taking off soon?” Bucky asked. He’d been expecting this since the moment the ship landed. He was surprised to find the thought made him incredibly sad.

Rocket nodded. “Yeah, the morons were just swinging by to pick me and Groot up. We still have a friend to save.”

“Ah.” Bucky took another sip of the alien alcohol. It didn’t get better on second try. “Are you sure you actually like this stuff? It’s not a joke?”

Rocket grabbed the bottle back. “If you don’t appreciate it, you can’t have it.” He took a deep gulp, finishing off half the contents with a satisfied sigh. “You know, it’s not going to be easy to get Gamora back,” he said after a pause, with unconvincing casualness. “We could use someone who knows their way around a weapon.” He glanced away from Bucky, trying and failing to hide the glimmer of hope that flashed in his eyes.

Traveling in space with his new friend, seeing other planets, things he never could have imagined just a few years ago — it was almost tempting. But he shook his head. “I’m tired of fighting,” he explained. “I’m looking forward to staying here, helping Wakanda rebuild.”

Rocket cleared his throat. “Of course, of course. You don’t have the stomach for space anyway,” he added, gesturing at the bottle.

“Will you come back?” Bucky asked, tentative, and was relieved when Rocket nodded.

“Think so,” he confirmed. “Now that Quill’s set foot on Earth, he’s obsessed. Says he wants to show Gamora where he grew up, after we get her back. Besides, I still need to get that arm,” he added with a wink.

“Never going to happen,” Bucky replied. “But you’re welcome to keep trying if it means you keep coming back.”

A smile spread across Rocket’s face as he extended his hand. “Challenge accepted.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is loved and cherished.


End file.
